"I am too much honoured—too happy in the union. He told me with a coarse nervous laugh. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. Here and there, a rectangular patch, darker than the rest, showed that some had been removed. ’ ‘Yes, but I’m afraid I am far too interested to stop mixing myself in your affairs,’ Gerald said ruefully. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. He would provide the necessities of life and protect her. ‘She’s gone. My nerves are shaken. "Oh! I see!" replied Blueskin, winking significantly, "Come nearer, or they'll observe us. So the world is choked with waste and waiting daughters. " "But I never told you how the natives fished. He had little money about him, and unless friends come to his aid he must be treated as a pauper. ‘I am saying so,’ protested Gerald mildly.
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